


Magneto Industries

by sourirpourmoi



Series: Magneto Industries, London [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, I'm a sucker for it, London Underground, M/M, Total Rom com no joke, blackcage is an awesome tumblr user and friend, id check her out bc her cherik arts are the best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourirpourmoi/pseuds/sourirpourmoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Charles' usual morning commute turns into something decidedly not mundane and tedious. </p><p>And to think all he had to do was drool on a handsome strangers shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Colliers Wood

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA
> 
> *pops confetti*
> 
>  
> 
> psst first ever cherik fic. GASP.

It's stuffy. As it always is on the tube. Charles sighs, rubbing a hand over his groggy face and cursing the delightfully smelling old woman at Boots for promising that  _this face cream will definitely bring some colour to your cheeks, duck._ It made his face smell like piss and stung when he put it on after severe stubble rash. Damn her and her flash lashes to hell.

He makes a noise like some kind of monster from one of Raven's favourite shows and blinks at his watch. There aren't any little numbers.

What time is it? Six? Seven?

Charles doesn’t know, frankly, he doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone at the university gives a bloody sod whether he’s late or not. God, it infuriates him to no end that despite how much work he's done for them, how much work he's done for the human _genome,_ Lisa from PR still called him Chad. Oh yes, just Chad here from Oxford.

The point is, it's far too early in the morning for anybody in their right mind to possibly assume Charles was capable of rational and sensible thinking. Unless it's grumbling. He was a pretty fantastic grumbler. 

He starts to lean forward slightly, body heavy with sleep. He can never fall asleep before midnight most nights and usually wakes up at five so this was an usual sight for the other passengers. They take no notice, having seen this happen far too often for it to be spectacle.

Everybody on this particular tube knew a little bit about their fellow commuters. Charles knew that Henry Pilston, sat opposite him, almost always carried a flask of instant coffee and a copy of The Guardian with him. Christina, precisely three seats down from him, always matched her lips and her nails and that she was itching to take Charles clothes shopping. The countless once overs she had given him over the past few months had told him that. There was Abdul, with his grime music playing so loud it was a wonder he still smiled at Charles, Erica, who constantly talked to her best friend on the phone, winking at him as she shook her full fringe out her face.

They were familiar with each other, they all knew that Charles would sit in the fifth carriage, the seat closest to the plastic panel, and as soon as they past Tooting Bec that he’d be out like a light. It was just a collective thing.

That being said, one would’ve thought the buggers would have at least warned him about the stranger who sat on his left.

Bastards.

Charles was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, briefcase secured between his feet and his jacket collar turned up. He fell asleep with his face smushed against the glass, as was his tradition.

Except he didn’t.

He drifted slowly into consciousness when the insufferable voice declared “Stockwell" and the first thing he saw was shirt. Shirt and jacket, to be more precise. Shirt, tie, jacket, chin, pecs. Pecs.

Bloody bollocks.

Charles jerked back to stare the man-pillow in the eye, mortified.

His pillow was staring at him with an eyebrow quirked and an insufferably handsome smirk playing on his ruggedly gorgeous face.

For gods sake man, calm down. He thought frantically at his beating heart.

That, however, was easier said than done. Especially when he took notice of his pillows eyes. Fuck me, Charles thought. This man was gorgeous. He had one of those faces that were made for television, made to be in some kind of glorified regency show, kissing dainty ladies' hands and bowing.

And Charles had drooled on his shirt.

"Oh my, bloody hell, I’m so sorry! Gosh, Xavier. I assure I will get that sorted for you," Charles rambled as he patted his jacket down for a business card to give the man.

The man just smirked at him and opened his mouth to reply-

"Charlie!" boomed a loud voice. Charles groaned and pulled a face, at which his pillow looked confused at.

Sod it all to hell. Today was just getting worse by the second. 

Straining his face into a convincing smile, Charles turned from his handsome stranger to look at his work colleague.

"Kevin!" He cries with evident false cheer. Kevin grins at him from opposite the carriage. 

Charles represses a shudder as he looks at the man. Kevin Elding was ten years his senior, a receding hair line and small bump of a belly implying to all his age, somewhere in the mid-thirties. 

He was a typical lads lad. He drank too much at office parties, became far too touchy/feely for anybody to be comfortable around and popped out demeaning and narrow minded jokes like he had a handbook of them in his breast pocket. But then agin, he was exactly the type of man that probably did.

Now it’s a well known fact, in his incredibly small circle of friends, that Charles Xavier does not do well with relationships.

He’s a terrible partner, he barely has time for anybody, not even his sister. He misunderstands everybody and their mother. He’s boring, dull and fascinatingly dense. Honestly speaking, Charles knows he was not meant for relationships.

That does not, however, make it okay for Kevin to blatantly oggle his arse and repeatedly ask him round for dinner.

At first Charles was flattered by the attention, never having gotten it of that sort before. He’d play along, flirt with Kevin, drop innuendos like he was laying eggs.

At first it had been alright.

And then Charles had made it glaringly obvious he wasn’t interested, he’d even apologized if it seemed like he had been leading the poor man on. He took in his stride, accepting that perhaps he and Charles could still remain friends.

That had lasted for less than a week. 

First it was texts. Then phone calls. Then home visits. (Admittedly this was only twice and Kevin had said he was in the neighborhood but it still unnerved him.) 

They weren’t harassing, they weren’t threats. They were just very annoying and very obtuse. It was as though Kevin had completely forgotten that they had agree’d to a professional-only relationships, and Charles would receive incredibly inappropriate texts for three am in the morning.  

Charles hated it, it made him squirm and he wished with all he was that Kevin could just forget about him.

Of course irony is his best friend and of course Kevin would be sitting opposite him on the forty five minute commute to work, glaring at the man he had just drooled on as though he had just personally insulted his mother and then jumped her bones.

"Who’s your friend?" Kevin says, with a voice like ice. Charles panics, he looks from Kevin to Pillow-man. Pillow-man keeps smirking, as though the entire ordeal has amused him greatly.  

"Uh, uhm, that is- This is-"

"Erik. Erik Lensherr." Pillow-man says smoothly, turning that smirk on Kevin and holding his hand out.

Kevin looks between Charles and Erik. And Charles does his best to smile at him.

Charles was bloody shocked, but he knew better than to stare a gift horse in the mouth. Even if said mouth, was tempting in ways that should be illegal to poor, unsuspecting, graduates like Charles.

If he’s lucky this will only mean a couple extra text messages. If he’s not- Well- Charles doesn’t quite want to think about how annoying his life would become.

After a moment, Kevin takes his hand. Charles can’t help but glance at their handshake, noting the differences. Kevin had a dollop of mayo it looked like on the edge of his sleeve, Erik on the other hand, had a crisp suit, tailored perfectly to the length of his arm, and gleaming cufflinks on his sleeve.

"Kevin Elding." He says slowly, slinking back into his chair before dashing forward again and narrowing his eyes. “Doctor, Kevin Elding."

Erik just grinned at him. 

It was all far too intense for the tube and Charles was going out his bloody mind trying not to groan in frustration.

"So, Charles," Kevin starts, his glare slipping away from Erik’s smug face fo focus on Charles. He almost breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly as the tension oozes away from them. “Want to come back to my place after work today?" Charles chokes. He can’t help himself he starts coughing. How bloody blunt. Fucking Elding and his fucking nerve. Bloody twat. And in front of Charles’ Pillow-man too! 

Charles is panicking. He flits from Erik to Kevin, mind trying to come up with something, anything, so that Erik doesn’t get the wrong idea. Because yes, it seem’s that Charles, the twenty four year old Ph.D Oxford graduate had a school girls crush on a man he had just met on the tube.

Charles feels an arm slide around his shoulders and he turns to look at Erik bewildered. The man leans towards him and angles his head slightly. To Thomas, or anybody opposite them, the gesture looks sweet, romantic almost.

"Play along," comes a heated whisper in his ear and Charles forces himself to think of anything but how much it turned him on. Grannies. Simon Cowells boob's. Jedward. Katie Price.

"Charles darling, I didn’t know you had plans tonight. I was going to take you to that new restaurent over at Canary Wharf, you know which one?" Erik slumps slightly, the movement bringing Charles closer into his embrace.

Kevin's fuming, staring daggers at Erik like he could kill the man by sheer force of will alone.

Meanwhile in Charles’ mind, however:

_Oh my god. He’s touching me. He has his arm around me. Do not get starstruck, Xavier. The mans not even famous. Xavier, get your bloody head out his arse. This kind behavior is reserved for the likes of the Duchess of Cambridge. Not even Boris got this reaction out of you. Bloody hell, he smells nice doesn’t he. Don’t lean in, don’t lean in, don’t lean it. God dammit, his pec is so comfy._

"Uh, yes. Heard mixed reviews." Charles finally manages. Erik has a peculiar look on his face and his smirk has widened into something slightly more genuine.

Erik looks back at Kevin and as he moves his arm to grasp Charles hand tightly he says, “Sorry, seems we can’t make it. Another time?" 

With every small circle Erik rubs into Charles’ hand with his thumb, Kevin's eye twitches and Charles most definitely does not purr a tiny bit.

_"The next station is Moorgate. Change here for Circle, Hammersmith and City, and Metropolitan lines."_

Charles jerks back. 

He can’t even think straight. The tube is slowing down and in less than a minute he’s going to have to somehow say goodbye to his ‘boyfriend’.

Erik takes the worry out his hands when he grabs his face and pulls him in for a kiss.

The moment their lips meet Charles is fairly sure he let out a moan but he can barely focus on any thing other than the feel of Erik’s lips moving against his, his stubble sliding against his smooth chin. His strong hands under his jacket, putting what Charles presumes is his business card in his pocket.

"I’ll see you tonight." Erik says winking, and Charles is so caught up he truly believes it.

Mysterious Pillow-man just kissed me.

He stumbles out the carriage with barely any time left at all and turns to smile dopey at Kevin.

The carriage pulls away and Charles shakes his head, trying to rid the lightheadedness. 

Thomas doesn’t talk to him the whole way to the offices. Charles tries very hard not to do a groovy dance in the elevator.

He can barely bloody believe it. Things like that don’t happen to Charles. And yet, it just did.

Sitting in the comfort of his desk, papers scattered idly and willy nilly about Charles brings out the card.

**Erik Lehnsherr**

**C.E.O Magneto Industries**

**Chemical, Electrical and Aerospace Engineering**

Charles stifles a manly scream.

He managed to bag himself the CEO of a global 500 company.

Charles flails a little bit on his swivel chair before whipping out his phone and doing what any self-respecting PR Director, getting paid by the deadline, with a promotion on the fence, in his position would do.

That’s right, he phones his little sister and spends three hours straight telling her absolutely everything.


	2. Westminster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions, phone calls and bad ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DONT KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING.  
> *eye twitch*

"So you're telling me that Erik Lensherr of _the_ Magneto Industries a) was on the tube and b) gave you, you in the granddad sweater vest, a yankee dime."

"Raven!" Charles says in a stressed whisper, looking around the cafe frantically as though the object of their discussion were somehow lurking behind the counter. "I know it's bloody hard to believe but yes. To the first thing. Not to the second, a what? He didn't give me any money, I told you, he bloddy well kissed me!" Charles sucks in an angry slurp of his frappicino to emphasise his point.

And succeeds in giving himself the mother of all brain freezes.

"Oh my god." He groans, scrunching his face up.

"Wow. This guys a perfect ten." Charles snaps his eyes open to glare at his sister for two reasons, the first and foremost being the insufferable American slang she deems vital in every conversation they held and secondly for admonishing his choice of coffee and forcing him to get the devils juice. A caramel frappicino.

"He's not a perfect ten." Charles grumbles. "He's a nine. At a push." He says when Raven gives him a pointed look from her phone.

"Jesus Christ monkey balls, he's gorgeous!"

"Raven please, this is Westminster, they have uptig- Wait a bloody minute. Hold on. Are you googling my mysterious pillow-man?!" Charles launches himself over the table to try and grab Ravens phone, but of course, her being a student stereotypically dependent on her phone manages to hold it just out of reach as she teasingly scrolls down the list of google images. "You insufferable oaf!" Charles cries when it becomes evident that she won't take the slightest bit of pity on him, enjoying his situation far too much for Charles not worry about her wellbeing.

"Oh my, he has abs-"

"What? Is that a shirtless picture? Show me." Charles does try for subtlety  he truly does, but the only thing he's been able to think about since that fateful friday was just how firm Mysterious Pillow-Man's chest had been. Well that, and the kiss. And his eyes. And his smirk.

It's safe to say Charles has been fangirling over his saviour for the better part of two days.

Raven wriggles her eyebrows at him which Charles decides to let slide because Great Bloody Scott on a pogo stick, there was his pillow-man. Shirtless. Working with metal.

"Raven. Hold me." 

Charles doesn't register her laughter. His mind is a tortuous cycle of lord-if-you-love-him-don't-let-this-man-near-me, oh-my-goodness-i-want-to-stroke-my-face-on-those-abs, how-what-pecs-DOWNBOY and just the odd sprinkling of wow-he-has-such-a-gorgeous-smile-i-want-to-wake-up-lazily-to-that-smile which he ignores because this was no time for his emotional heart to gate crash his blatant objectification.

"So have you talked to him?" Raven asks, waving her hand in front of his face and bringing him back to the here and now.

Charles can feel his face getting redder by the second and tries to justify his actions by the sheer sexiness his mysterious pillow-man oozes. It works.

"No?"

"NO?!" Raven screeches, earning them a few disgruntled looks from the other coffee goers. Charles shoots them a few tense looks, his need to protect his little sister still not qualmed even though she was nineteen and had just returned from a road trip in the states. "Charles give me your phone."

"Raven, I hardly think you calling him is a good-"

"Oh big brother of mine I'm not going to call him, I'm going to text him. And he'll think it's you." She says, her face adopting that cheeky smile that has more than once gotten Charles in crap with their parents. 

He leans back in his chair and tries for nonchalance.

"I didn't bring it with me." 

"Bull shit. I can see it in your pocket."

"Oh for heavens sake, I'm not going to give you my bloody phone, I'm a grown man, I don't have to put up with thi-"

"Charles, give me your phone or I'll tell mom that you don't go to a cricket club and your actually at home watching re-runs of Red Dwarf instead of at the family dinner."

Sometimes, Charles really, truly, hates his sister. He hands over his phone with trembling hands and moves his chair next to her so he can at least act like he has an ounce of authority over what she'll text mysterious pillow-man.

"Stop breathing down my neck."

"Stop wearing such revealing clothes, then."

Raven ignores him, choosing instead to casually stroll through his phone like she knows the entire layout. She probably does.

She's about to press on Erik's number, respectfully saved as Mysterious Pillow-Man, when the phone starts ringing.

Mysterious Pillow-Man.

Charles and Raven glance at each other in silence. She narrows her eyes and him and he grips his chair. 

She twitches.

Charles lunges. It's a mad scrabble, each of them trying to grab the phone before the other. 

The baristas come running over to see what the fuss is all about but neither sister nor brother care right now.

"Sir! Madam!" comes a roar. Charles and Raven stop their fighting to look up in the face of the angry manager. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Oh fuck, Charles thinks as he looks around the cafe. Everybody was staring at them. "Yes, well, no worries, we were just leaving, weren't we Raven?" He says briskly, grabbing his bag and turning to his sister.

That was outside.

On the phone.

On Charles phone.

He makes it out in time to hear the very last of her conversation, something he blames on the oddly placed plant pot by the door, honestly who would put a plant pot in the prime area for one Charles Xavier to trip over.

"He'll see you then, Mr Lensherr." Raven laughs as though she's on the phone with her best friend, not Mr Sexy McSexiton. He barrels in to her and grabs the phone.

"Hello? Hello?" The lines already dead. Bloody bugger. "What happened?" He says, turning on his sister.

She's positively beaming, oozing excitement like she's a toddler. "You have a date!" She cries, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down.

What.

"What."

"Smile!" She coos again, poking and prodding his cheeks to force a smile on his face. One that stays there and widens when he finally takes in what she said. 

"I have a date?!"

"You have a date!"

Now, some may say Charles was over reacting but this just didn't happen to him. First of all, somebody rescues his poor neck from the sleep to work, second, said somebody turns out to be the man of Charles dreams, third, THAT SOMEBODY LIKED CHARLES ENOUGH TO TAKE HIM OUT.

He groovy dances, of course he does. And Raven joins in.

"We have to get home, it's at seven." Raven says as sombre as she can manage with a grin on her face. "I'm happy for you, big bro." She pinches her cheek.

"Oh lay off, it's just a date." He replies playfully pushing her as they make their way to the station.

-

"Erik." Angel says as soon as she walks in, her heels clanking against the floor and her voice firm.

"Yes, my dear?" He tries for joking, she levels him with unimpressed.

"You have to go to a company party tonight." She dumps two invites on his desk. Erik groans and tilts his head back.

"Not tonight."

"Erik, you have too."

"I have plans, Angel!" He's only ever this way with her. They've both seen too much of each other for his cold demeanour to work on her. 

"And you think I don't? I'm just as sick of pretending to be your bloody arm candy as you are. And it's Shaw no less so you have to bring a plus one."

"Why is that fool obsessed with the press?" He sighs, packing his papers in his briefcase and rubbing a hand over his brow.

"Because he's been at the mercy of the press before, he's like a father figure to you, he has your best interests at heart, he's scared for the future of the company, you've been in too many scandals to be free as a bach-" She says, listing each point on her finger for emphasis.

"Alright! Okay, I get it! I'll bloody come."

"Your buying my dress, I want the Valentino one."

"Wait-"

"What, Erik?! I'm your secretary, I don't have enough to buy it my-"

"No, I mean- What do you mean you don't have enough?! I gave you a bloody bonus last week." At her narrowed eyes, Erik swallows and pushes that topic aside. "You don't have to come tonight if you don't want to." He says looking down and bringing his phone out.

"Oh?" She says, wriggling her eye brows at him with barely concealed mirth and curiosity

"I have somebody else in mind." 

"And just who is this somebody?" She smirks at him.

"Charles. Charles Xavier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excuse me rumcity. your wish is my command.


	3. Chelsea: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens in a cruel way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY. SO SORRY.

"Charles.. You don't have to do this," Raven starts, as she straightens out his suit and smooths in down unnecessarily  resting her hands softly on his chest.

Something panged in his chest for the worry on his little sisters face. He hadn't been strong enough for her lately and he dearly missed those days when her calls weren't laced with sympathy.

"It's fine." Charles is aware of how dejected he sounds but he can't bring himself to sound cheery for the night waiting for him. A night of false pretences and fake fondness.

This date was fake. Erik's interest in Charles stuttered feebly on mildly amused and slightly intrigued  nothing more. And thus, Charles had agreed, quite stupidly, to pretending to be the love of Erik's life for the sake of his business. It's only fair, he told himself, Erik had saved him from Thomas and it wasn't exactly a hardship.

The phone conversation runs through his mind once more.

_"Charles! It's Erik,"_

_"Hello, Erik, I've just read the reviews for that place and-"_

_"Slight change of plans. Do you think you'd be up for a business party? I have to prove to the bloody world that I'm not a bachelor and I've finally found the love of my life."_

_"Oh. You want me to.."_

_"Yes, if you want. I mean, only if you're comfortable, obviously it's very early and I wouldn't want you to think I'm trying to force anything on you. I just really need to-"_

_"It's fine."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Yes."_

_"..Thank you."_

Still, it did hurt. To know that the Erik Lensherr's of the world were reserved for a much higher league than the Charles Xavier's. Fuck him, getting him too spoiled for the Thomas Elding's. 

Charles hadn't always reserved himself for such low standards, once upon a time, Charles had a relationship. A really fucking good relationship.

But he doesn't remember any of it. The accident blocked out everything from four yea-

"I just don't understand! He sounded so freaking excited on the phone, Charles, like you should have heard him! He was all like 'Oh, should I wear a tie or would that be-'"

He grasps her frantic hands in his and squeezes them, effectively shutting her rambling for more than just her sake. He looks at her fondly and implores his eyes to look strong, stable for her.

"It's okay. I promise. If it wasn't I wouldn't be doing this." He moves away from her slowly, trying to find his shoes. "Besides, it's only fair."

Charles can safely say he was not expecting to find his shoes in the next second. As they had just been thrown, quite aggressively if he might add, at his back.

"Fair?! Are you fucking kidding me?! You don't owe him anything, Charles, just because he let you dribble on him-"

Raven was cut off by the shrill noise of the intercom and Charles thanked all the lords in all the languages.

"Hello?" He says into the speaker, pressing the button. 

Erik's face strikes him dumb as it appears on the video feed. His hair was slicked to the side and he was clean shaven. It gave him a fresh look. The cold air in front of him made Charles want to grasp the mans face and taste the freshness. Just to see if it tasted as sweet as it seemed.

Charles is struck by an odd feeling of nostalgia that he brushes aside.

"Charles!" Erik calls, face splitting into an eager grin. He was glad Erik couldn't see his cheeks flame and his eyes narrow at the effect the mans smile had on him. Charles was a strong man. But Jesus and jerusalem, the man's eyes were like an eclectic mix of the best skies in all of the world.

"Yes, hello, Erik. I'll be down in a minute." He congratulates himself on a sentence correctly formed, even under the influence of Erik Lensherr's strong features, grabs his phone and quickly swallows his meds.

"Goodbye my darling sister!" He calls as he opens the door.

"Text me!" Ravens shouts at him just before he's out of ear shot.

In the elevator down, Charles decidedly does not panic.

He ruffles his hair one way and decides he's tragically ruined it before trying and failing to style it as Raven had done before hand, this is not panicing.

He bites at his mouth a little bit too much, drawing the slightest drop of blood and he curses the human genes in russian for sharp teeth, again perfectly relatable.

He's not entirely sure but at one point he seems to recall stroking his face in the mirror reflection, whispering encouragement. As one should.

This was to be expected. Of course he wasn't panicing. He was about to attend one of the most prestigious parties in all of London.

As the arm candy of one the hottest men he had ever laid his innocent (not) and sheltered (not) eyes on since the dawn of time.

He also was not shitting his bloody expensive and damn uncomfortable pants over the fact he would have to act as though he and Erik were hugely and sickeningly besotted with each other.

Bloody hell, how long does it take to go down twenty floors?! Fucking useless, pathetic stupid machine. Death and curses on all fucking engineers who bloody designed this piece of shi-

"Hello."

Charles freezes. He slowly brings his foot back from where it had taken to beating the shit out of the side of the elevator and looks up, wide eyed to where Erik stood with his hands behind his back, playful smirk on his handsome face.

"Uh." The man was bloody gorgeous. His heart rate rockets and his palms clam up immediately. Speak, Xavier! Say something, you bloody oaf! "I don't like elevators."

Well done, you fucking tosser.

"I designed this." Erik says, smirking and quirking his eyebrow like he doesn't know Charles can barely even think, never mind recognise a joke. Of course Erik bloody designed it, the glorious bastard.

Gold fucking Star, Charles.

"Oh my goodness! I mean, it's fantastic, of course it is. I just- Jesus, I'm awfully sorry about that,"

Erik laughs and the sound rings in his ears. Erik just smiles at him.

Charles, of course gawks.

-

Erik was barely keeping face. Charles.

Charles Xavier.

His Charles.

Looking at him now, it's hard to remember their university days. When Charles had been slighter, brighter. Before the accident and Erik lost him for six years.

"You look good." Erik says, because conversation was awkward but a must. He wonders how long it will take before Charles realises that Erik is Max. His old boyfriend. Perhaps he hadn't made the connection and thats why he was acting so distant.

"I, uh, thank you. So do you, of course." Charles replies, fumbling in that distinctly Charles way. Erik's heart swells. Too long, too long I've missed you.

He doesn't understand why Charles never bothered to try and find him. After a year, he'd lost hope. He'd never met Charles' family, something they had talked about for the future. He had no way of finding him and after a year of trying he'd given up. Shaw wouldn't let him look anymore, forcing him to come back to London for his responsibilities.

And then, Charles was suddenly there. 

On the tube that Erik had escaped too after his driver had let slip that they were going to see Shaw.

He couldn't breathe. Charles was there, alive, sleeping. Healthy. He was obviously shocked, the only rational explanation for his dumb-struck reaction. He wanted to cry, to scream, to kiss him. But before he could, that toad of a man had interrupted him. He barely got a chance.

Erik's fingers move slightly, fighting against the urge to grab Charles' hand. He steps to the side slightly and gestures towards his car. "Shall we?" He says, smiling at him.

Charles levels him with a weird look and Erik blames it on nerves. Hell, even he was nervous and he'd been to more of these things than he can count in the past year.

They don't talk for a long while as they're driving. Erik sneaks looks at Charles as often as he can, taking in the full lips, the bright eyes, the strong cheekbones. 

Charles looks... sharper than before. Still his Charles, just wary. Erik had done his research. A whole load of it back when his only goal in life was to find Charles, he knew that survivors suffered stress, depression. Guilt. And that all this could change a person.

He just bloody hoped it wasn't too late.

"So how did we meet?" Charles breaks the silence, his voice so much more than Erik had imagined in those painful nights. He's looking down at his clasped hands. He doesn't see Erik's eye's crinkly, he doesn't see him swallow the lump in his throat.

"At university." He manages.

Charles, surprisingly, laughs at him. "You've got to give me more than that, Myst- Erik."

Erik turns to look at him. 

Charles is staring at him with wide eyes and a soft smile. With real curiosity on his face.

Something smashes through Erik's heart.

"You don't know..." He whispers.

"Of course I don't bloody know, you didn't send a memo!" Charles says with a roll of his beautiful eyes. Pain ebbs at Erik. "Which is something you should probably do if this whole fake-boyfriends thing is going to continue."

Erik's hands start shaking. Moisture wells in his eyes as a cold realisation beats him repeatedly. Shakily, pulls to the side of the road, slamming the breaks down and clenching his tremors into fists. 

He doesn't remember.

"Erik, are you okay?" He hears distantly from Charles. But it isn't his Charles, is it?

This is the voice of a man who remembers nothing. The voice of a man who doesn't remember _him._

Erik lets the tears fall, obstructing his view as he looks at Charles Xavier. The stranger. Not the love of his life. Not the man he'd die for. Not the man he fell in love with.

"You don't remember.."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me how much you hate me. tell me if you liked it. tell me if i've fucked everything up.


End file.
